


I'll Go Left

by ragqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragqueen/pseuds/ragqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural AU. Dean Winchester has been damned to his perfect life in suburbs when he meets Castiel, who is anything but perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Why do I have to go to this, again?” 

Castiel rummaged through one of his sister’s many cosmetic drawers, fascinated that one person would posses so many different shades of pink to splash across her cheeks. Especially since Anna rarely looked like she wore much make-up at all. Sure, on a special occasion she’d smear some dark color across her eyelids for dramatic effect, but on a day-to-day basis, she wore her face pretty plainly. He fished a small bottle of what appeared to be purple nail polish out of the chaotic cluster of lip balms and mascaras, certain that Anna had never in her life sported purple nails. 

“Because,” came her disembodied voice from behind the shower curtain. A whiney creak signaled the water being turned off, and the curtain drew back allowing steam to billow through the entire bathroom. Castiel leaned over from his place on the sink counter to open the door and disperse the humidity of the room, wishing to be surround by a different kind of smoke, while Anna stepped out of the tub and dried off. “I don’t want to be all alone with these freaks that call themselves my neighbors.”

 “They _are_ your neighbors now, Anna. You’re the clever one who decided to move to the burbs in the first place,” Cas reminded her, picking up a small, pink powder brush that read “dream angels _divine_ by Victoria’s Secret.” “Suburban America, land of the freaks...” He cocked his head, examining her lithe figure. “I think your tits are getting bigger.”   

“Thanks. I’ve been doing some boob exercises,” she grinned, pulling out her elbows to the side then upward in front of her chest.  

“Nice.” Castiel twirled the brush around his fingers, the glittery powder within falling this way and that. “What is this, by the way? A... glitter brush? Anna, do you honestly have a brush specifically for making yourself look like a stripper?” 

Anna seized the brush from him and smashed it all along his face before he could jerk away. “Yes, and now you look like one, too. Good luck getting that off; you’ll be washing your face for days before you find it all.” 

Castiel observed himself in the mirror, his three-day beard now shining with tiny sparkles. “Well, I do feel like a pretty princess now, so I guess it isn’t all bad.” 

“You’ll be the butch of the ball,” Anna sing-songed as she dabbed her face with foundation. “And anyway, _you_ also agreed that it would be best for me to get out of the city for a while. If I remember correctly, you’re the one that kinda talked me into it. Now I’m surrounded by trimmed hedges and minivans.” 

“I must have been stoned,” Castiel responded dryly. “Speaking of which, you wanna light up?” He quirked his eyebrow at her hopefully.

“We talked about that too, Cas,” Anna sighed, her voice now devoid of all playfulness. “I’m trying to do the straight-laced, apple pie thing, remember?” 

“I know for a fact that plenty of soccer moms rely on recreational drugs to make it through their sad, miserable days.” 

“Cas,” Anna stated firmly, finally slipping into her underwear, “I’m just saying no, here. Didn’t you ever learn from after-school specials? Peer pressure is bad.” 

“I was too busy getting laid to watch after-school specials. But suit yourself. I, for one, am not going to show up to this tight-assed barbecue without some kind of buffer from the freaks.” 

“There’s going to be beer,” Anna said quietly, sincerely hoping her brother wouldn’t make this more difficult. 

“Well, call the police!” Castiel cried, holding his hands up in mock horror. He turned to leave the bathroom, but Anna grabbed his wrist gently. 

“Please don’t get high, Cas. I really want to try this whole wholesome life thing, and I don’t expect you to do it with me. You like your life; I know that,” she murmured, not entirely sure she was convinced of that last point. “But it was getting toxic for me, and _you_ know _that._ ” 

Castiel’s chest rose in a deep sigh, then deflated. He knew he was being an ass, and Anna was one of the very few people in his life that he actually gave a shit about, so he drew her into a hug, resigned to the fact that he’d have to make it through the torture of the evening completely sober, for her sake. 

“Okay, Anna-banana. No drugs. Though I’m seriously going to make a dent in their cooler before this is over.” Well, maybe not _completely_ sober. 

“Deal,” she grinned into his collarbone. 

 

***** 

Dean sliced the serrated steak knife deep into the nearest t-bone, watched as the blood oozed up around the jagged metal. Perfect. 

“Alright, who ordered medium-rare?” he hollered out to his guests. He flopped several steaks onto the garish, neon yellow serving platter Lisa had laid out for him, then clinked his tongs together in the air several times for a little theatrical flourish. “Orders up!” 

Several people stirred, rising from their lawn chairs to get in line. 

“Alright, Dean-o! I knew there was a reason we have you host these things. Best steaks on the whole block!” Sid, some chump from two doors down, exclaimed with a dopey grin. Dean beamed at the jackass like he’d prepared the whole meal specifically with Sid’s palate in mind.  

In fact, Dean was the only one who served steak at barbecues around here, much to Lisa’s annoyance, though she always grinned through it and complemented him on his superior grilling abilities. Most people went with burgers or hot dogs, or in one unfortunate occurrence, veggie burgers. After much complaining from the men of the community, Mrs. Glickman, had promised never to deprive them of their red meat again, lest she be banned from hosting. Despite Lisa’s complaints that steaks required real plates and silverware and don’t even get her started on the _price_ of those damn things, Dean insisted on serving the absolute best to his neighbors. It was always one of his proudest moments, holding the best barbecues in the neighborhood.  

And fuck if that wasn’t don’t-get-out-of-bed-in-the-morning pathetic.  

He tried to push the thought out of his mind, watching as the flames licked the remaining meat on the rack. Dean had a good life; married his high school sweetheart shortly after graduation, got a job working construction for a smalltime contractor and eventually bought the company from him, bought a house in the suburbs where Lisa could tend her garden and feng shui every room to death. Dean’s life was achingly, beautifully perfect. 

And he fucking hated it. 

As the fire rose higher, now engulfing the expensive animal flesh that had for some reason seemed so important to him, Dean had thoughts of Hell. This must be it... a marriage that had long since lost any spark or heat to it, a house he couldn’t afford surrounded by people he didn’t like, a job that did nothing to satisfy the dull longing in his chest. This was Hell. 

“Dean!” someone shouted, breaking him out of his ill-timed reverie. The fire had overtaken the grill, the steaks long since burnt. Dean turned off the switches and closed the lid immediately, fanning the smoke away from his eyes. A glance up proved what he had expected, everyone stood around staring at him with their trout-mouths open. 

“Heh,” he said, looking down at his feet, embarrassed. “I, uh, hope some of you like your steaks well-done.” Nonchalance is usually the best remedy for shame, he’s found.  

“We-ell, looks like someone boarded that ship to Mars,” Sid quipped. “What, couldn’t keep Lisa’s sweet little behind off your mind long enough to man the grill?” 

Predictably, everyone chuckled as if the man had actually said something witty and original. Dean just shot them his sly, winning grin.

 “Well, it’s a pretty nice behind, isn’t it?” He gave Lisa a wink and she looked at him in that my-husband-is-so-inappropriate-but-I-kind-of-like-it way and everyone relaxed. 

Yeah, because the thing Dean would fantasize about was the one person in the world that he was actually allowed to sleep with. Not that he didn’t love his wife or that he no longer found her attractive, quite the opposite, in fact. Lisa’s soft smile and gently-curved body provided Dean with a certain comfort and consistency, but time had a way of making relationships grow stale and lovemaking listless, and the Winchesters were no exception to this rule. 

Dean never let himself think of the difference between loving someone and being in love with them.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean let himself drop heavily into an empty lawn chair on the far side of the party, away from the asinine chatter of his neighbors. Burning the steaks had put him in a foul mood. The one thing he’d been planning to pull off flawlessly all month now gone to shit. 

He was mushing the poor potato salad on his plate around in a furious misdirection of his disappointment when a man he hadn’t noticed before filled the empty chair next to him. Dean abandoned his potato massacre and sat up straighter, putting on his cheerful mask. 

“I’ve never seen you around here before. I take it you’re new to the neighborhood?” he asked, barely glancing at the guy.  

“My sister.” Surprised at the man’s deep growl of a voice, Dean looked up. The man had striking facial features; there was an air of mystery to his physiognomy. It seemed as if a dormant violence lay just below the calm, icy blue of his eyes. Dean felt something in his chest pull sharply as he looked into them. The man seemed to have no problem staring right back.  

Eventually, the stranger tipped his beer in the direction of a redhead talking it up with Lisa. Right, the sister. 

“Anna Milton.” 

“Uh, right,” Dean choked out, finding his voice again. “I remember hearing her name somewhere. I’m Dean.” He held out his hand, and the other man narrowed his eyes, raking them up and down Dean’s body. His mouth quirked up into a devious grin, and he finally took Dean’s hand, gripping it slowly. 

“Castiel.” 

“Well, that’s... different.”

Castiel hummed in agreement, apparently bored with Dean as his eyes now turned to the bustle of the party. Dean couldn’t make himself look away, when he noticed... 

“Dude, are you wearing glitter?” 

A sharp laugh forced itself from Castiel’s throat. “Oh yes, I’d forgotten.” 

“Who are you, Edward Cullen?” Dean asked, enjoying this man’s strangeness, completely different than the usual people he interacted with. Dean just couldn’t get a read on him, which was oddly thrilling. The man furrowed his brow and looked back at Dean. 

“I don’t understand that reference.”  

Dean snorted. “Man, I wish I didn’t.” He shuttered, remembering Lisa’s bizarre _Twilight_ phase, which she now vehemently denied.  

Castiel offered nothing else, merely looking at Dean with a mixed expression of confusion and interest. It should have made Dean feel uncomfortable -- he knew that -- but it didn’t.  

“Well, maybe next time you go to a strip club, don’t pick a lap dance with the sparkly girls,” he grinned, trying to see what pushed this guy’s buttons. 

“I prefer orgies to strip clubs,” Castiel deadpanned. Dean nearly choked on his beer. He stared wide-eyed at the other man, trying to discern if he was joking or not. 

“Well, uh, more power to ya,” he finally replied, clinking the neck of his bottle against Castiel’s. The man merely dipped his chin down in small nod, then leaned in closer to Dean. 

“What do you know about bees?” he asked with entire solemnity. Suddenly the heavy defeat of the burnt steaks that had festered in Dean’s gut was now replaced with something far lighter and more intangible. 

***** 

If there was one thing Dean knew, it was that Sam was too smart for his own friggin’ good. The nerd had him reading _The Brother’s Karamazov_ in an attempt to “expand his cultural horizons” or some other hippie crap that they must have taught him at Stanford. This Dostoevsky guy was a bit long-winded for Dean’s taste, and it really wouldn’t have killed him to throw in some comic relief to this snoozefest of a novel. Honestly, most of it flew right over Dean’s head, but it gave him and Sam a reason to talk on the phone every week, so he kept trucking right on through the damn thing. 

When Lisa finally appeared in the bedroom, Dean tossed the oversized book onto the nightstand in relief. 

“Lise, thank _god_. Come save me from the boredom of nineteenth century Russian literature.” 

She shot him a downright devilish grin and hopped onto the bed, crawling up to him and straddling his hips. 

“Aw, does my man need me to protect him from the big, bad book?” she cooed, leaning over him and stroking his face. Her dark eyes sparkled in the dim light, her still-wet hair cascading over her shoulders in tender ringlets. Lisa never came to the bedroom before she dried her hair. Her whole body thrummed with a certain liveliness that Dean hadn’t seen in awhile. She twisted her hips in a playful thrust against his. 

“What’s gotten into you?” he purred, clutching her hips and giving a thrust of his own. He missed this Lisa. Sometimes he forgot that she used to be wild and indomitable in the bedroom, though back in those days it was more like the backseat of the Impala.  

“Well,” she started, dipping her head down and dragging her eyes up to meet Dean’s, suddenly coy. “I heard about something... interesting tonight.” 

“Okay...” Dean responded when she failed to elaborate. He had no idea where this was going. 

“You know how we were talking about, ya know, spicing things up a little bit?” She bit her lip. He liked where this was going, he decided. 

“Sort of,” he smiled, unable to keep the excitement from showing on his face. It was the truth; he _sort of_ remembered several months back when they’d discussed a couple of roleplaying fantasies. She’d ended up giving him a strip tease dressed in those sexy Victoria’s Secret angel wings, and he’d fucked her over the kitchen table wearing a sailor’s suit he’d bought at a thrift store. That had pretty much been the end of  their “spicing things up” experiment.  

 _Christ,_ was that the last time he’d gotten laid?  

Oh well, looked like it wouldn’t be for long. 

“Well, I got to talking to that new girl in the neighborhood, Anna. Did you meet her?”  

Dean officially _loved_ where this was going. 

“Briefly, yeah. I talked to her brother quite a bit. He’s a weird dude. Cool, but fucking weird.” 

“He’s actually who I wanted to talk to you about.”

The brakes screeched to a halt in Dean’s brain. His stomach flip-flopped and his breath caught in his chest.  

The jury was out on how Dean felt about where this was going. 

“Apparently, he has this mansion in the city where he holds these crazy sex parties a couple times a month. But they’re, like, classy sex parties. You have to submit an application, and an STD test, and a full-body picture of yourself, and I think they even require some type of mental health screening test because I guess there’s even a S&M room. _Not_ that I’d want to go in that room, but they make you take the test and everything, and I just thought that maybe if you wanted--” 

“Lise, Lise. Calm down,” he whispered. Her previous confidence had melted into raw nerves if her rambling and slightly trembling shoulders were any indicators. His hands caressed her golden skin gently, trying to sooth his clearly shaken wife. Did she really think he would judge her about this stuff? 

Not that he could really blame her. It was pretty fucking weird. 

“Just, uh, think about it,” she finally murmured, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I’m going to go dry my hair. And if this is really strange or uncomfortable for you, let’s just forget I ever said anything, okay?” She hurried off into the bathroom, eyes on her feet the whole way. 

He’d have told her he didn’t think this made her a freak, if she’d have let him. 

***** 

As unconsciousness floated just out of Dean’s reach, a pair of bright blue eyes flashed through his mind, a deep voice rumbling about bees. Dean sluggishly draped his arm around Lisa, buried his face in her silky hair. 

“Lise, let’s go to that party.”


	3. Chapter 3

The mansion seemed almost like some kind of fractured fairy tale place, red-bricked and oddly shaped, three stories high. Though it stood near the city’s center, it almost existed in it’s own little space, surrounded by trees that blocked the bustling chaos of the outside world. It was peaceful almost. Dark and eerie. Quiet, even.

Dean wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wasn’t it. He’d nearly had a panic attack on the way here, imagining people mindlessly fucking on the front yard with black eyes like that freaky scene from _True Blood_. Arriving at what looked like it could be a location for a twisted version of _The Secret Garden_ , he wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed.

But the truth of their situation would reveal itself when they opened those double doors.

He reached down and squeezed Lisa’s hand.

“You sure you want to do this, babe?”

He already knew the answer. His wife had been practically bouncing off her seat in excitement on the way here, another thing he wasn’t sure how to feel about.

“Well, we already paid our dues and everything,” she grinned up at him. And wasn’t that the truth. Five hundred friggin’ dollars a piece for their membership, which expired after they’d attended three parties. “Would kind of be a shame to chicken out now, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, and leaned downed to kiss her gently. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The inside of the building turned out to be entirely different from the outside. While the outside had looked like something from a tame Tim Burton film, the inside was modern and sleek: clean lines, white walls with black trim, stainless steel peeking out here and there. Big, white candles were everywhere, flickering as a weird but upbeat song Dean had never heard played in the background. The lyrics sounded like they were in French, but Dean wasn’t exactly a language expert.

The people milling about everywhere surprised Dean as well. When they’d had to submit a-- thankfully not nude-- full body photo, he’d suspected that only traditionally beautiful model-types would be allowed. Not that he was conceited or anything, but he knew both he and his wife were on the higher end of the attractive scale. After a lifetime of being told, “You should be a model,” or “You two are going to make the most beautiful children,” or being voted “Sexiest Couple” by the fellow classmates, it was just kind of something he’d come to accept as fact.

But there was a wide range of people here. Sure, many of them looked like they could be on a cover of a fashion magazine, probably more than you’d see just walking along the street. However, there were also a variety of more unusual looking people as well. Stretch marks showing here, a lazy eye there, a guy covered almost head to toe in tattoos. Somehow, despite everyone not being traditionally attractive, they were all still intensely sexy. Maybe it was just the nature of where they were and what they were doing, but Dean felt as though he was bombarded with human sex appeal. Lisa seemed to be experiencing the same thing; he could practically feel her vibrating next to him.

People’s outfits also varied from “going out to a five-star restaurant” to “Lady Gaga wannabe.” He actually saw a dude walking around with a live fucking snake around his neck like a scarf. Dean suddenly felt self-conscious in his khakis and button-down.

A dark-skinned woman wearing nothing but a golden bikini walked past them, a scar that appeared to be from some type of extreme burn decorating half her torso. Both Dean and Lisa’s eyes followed her. Something about her radiated beauty and grace, and they were _allowed_ to look at her here, allowed to _want_ her. It was intoxicating.

“I see the newbies have arrived,” a familiar voiced said, making the Winchesters snap out of their gawking and face the blue-eyed man they’d met once before. Dean ducked his head, embarrassed to be caught. Lisa nudged him in the rib playfully and then stuck out her hand to Castiel.

“It’s nice to see you again, Castiel,” she said, and he brought her hand to his mouth slowly.

“You as well, Lisa, and in such favorable circumstances,” he replied lowly before turning her hand over and pressing his lips against her palm. God, this dude was fucking weird, and for some reason that made Dean’s body react in ways he’s rather not examine too closely.

“Dean,” Castiel nodded in acknowledgement and Dean returned the simple gesture. Then Castiel leaned in toward him, and for one heart-stopping moment, Dean thought the dude was actually going to kiss him right on the mouth. Instead, he merely pecked him on the cheek, and Dean exhaled a shaky breath, trying to keep himself (and his dick) under control. Castiel grinned widely as he drew back, and looked into Dean’s eyes. For the life of him, Dean could do nothing but stare back, his brain unable to process what a bizarre, dream-like world he had slipped into.

Distantly, Dean heard Lisa clear her throat next to him. He jerked his gaze away from the universe swirling in the other man’s eyes and back to his wife, whose eyebrows were crawling up her forehead. Dean shrugged back at her, bewildered by his own and this stranger’s behavior.

Castiel laughed loudly.

“Don’t worry, it takes most people a little while to get used to this place,” he said, taking both of their hands in his and pulling them behind him.

“Come on, let me show you the tour.”  
*****

Castiel had been waiting for this moment since he’d received the Winchesters’ application to his party. Honestly, neither of them had really made an impression on him at the barbecue, and he’d been shocked that they’d actually be interested in something like this. It was rare that suburbia drones actually braved the wild waters of a Milton sex party, but as soon as he’d opened that application, he’d been immensely glad that they did.

Despite what most believed, Castiel didn’t require a photograph in the application process because he wanted to filter out ugly people from his parties. But there was something about a photograph that allowed him to see if a person really had that _spark_ , that extra something that shone from within a person. Castiel was terrible at social interactions that didn’t involve drugs or sex; he couldn’t read people the way his sister had always been able to. However, put a photograph of a person in front of him, and he was somehow a remarkable judge of their character. It was never something he understood, but something he’d always been able to do.

Dean Winchester, he had that fucking spark. In the picture, he’d been shyly looking away from the camera, eyes shut with the trace of a smile on his lips. His arms had been crossed, clearly a defensive stance, but there was still something so soft, so _vulnerable_ about the black and white photo that Castiel had had to physically look away.

It wasn’t often that he let himself become interested in men these days, apart from sex. As a matter of fact, he rarely became interested in anyone apart from sex, not after that first time, but Castiel couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know Dean Winchester in every sense of the word.

And now he was in his home.


End file.
